we are compelled to do what we have been forbidden
by waywardcherry
Summary: Sometimes all you can do is forget the rules, keep your head together and never, ever give up. AU. Rachel/Quinn/Brittany/Santana.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **This is my first _Glee_ story and I have a pretty solid plan for where this is going, so I hope you like it.

Here's the break down: Quinn kept Beth and didn't go insane and never got into a car accident; aside from that, all the rest follows canon after _Journey_ (that includes Brittana, Troubletones, Finchel engagement, NYADA, Yale, Britt failing senior year, Maribel's check, Santana heading for NYC, Finn dumping Rachel at the train station). The prologue is the only planned chapter in Beth's POV. The following chapters steadily go about Quinn keeping her and the girls' road to college and, eventually, life.

**Warning:** This a Faberrittana _polyamory_ story, so turn around if it's not your thing. It's mostly fluff.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything.

.

Beth Fabray really thought summer was her favorite season, now that it was so close. Honest. Soon, she'd get to go to Ohio to see Dad, splash around in the pools he was trying to clean, play soccer with her granddads (they had a team, but it was _really_ easy to beat them—even if it was just her against them), have tea parties with her grandmas and no homework at all.

Summer was _awesome_.

She was just having a really hard time remembering the pros right now. The sundress her mama had picked out a month ago ("preparation is _important_", she recalled the constant drilling she was submitted to) felt itchy around her collarbone and her hair was sticking to the back of her neck. She snapped the thin hair tie she wore on her wrist and snuck a sideways glance toward her mom, sitting on the white fold-out chair next to her.

Beth smiled a little. Her mom's blond hair glowed in this weird halo (that stupid sunlight had to be good for _something_) and her eyes glistened with tears that should be falling at any moment. Beth didn't quite understand why though, this old man's speech sounded _so_ boring and it went on _forever_, but in a way she knew it wasn't really about that. Last week, she saw that same expression on her face, but Beth was up there, on the stage, scanning the crowd for four proud faces and waving her little diploma in the air for them to see. It was _that_ face. (But she was having way more fun.)

Beth snapped the hair tie again, still testing the waters. She wanted to put her hair up so badly. It would actually look good with this dress! She had it up when she tried it on the first time and they all said she looked—what was the word? Radiant? Striking? She was sure it had something to do with light. She hoped she wouldn't get into any trouble now. They wanted her happy and healthy and still _alive_, right?

(Man, this old guy sure was _not_ helping her case right now. Move it along! Break into song! Her mama always said life was better when people broke into song and she agreed.)

She heard a sniffle to her left and, sure enough, her mom was crying. Beth saw it as her cue to quickly bunch her hair up and—

"Excuse me, excuse me. Oh, pardon me, ma'am", Beth's blood ran cold at the voice approaching at her right. Her elbows were up, frozen mid-action, with her hair almost fully tied in a pony tail. _Move, get it done_, she ordered herself.

"Did you get the pictures?"

"Yes, thanks to some junior who was helping around with the lighting. I was certainly not gonna get easy access from that angle."

Beth heard a snicker.

"No lewd commentary, please."

"I didn't say anything."

Another snicker. And a heavy sigh as an answer.

Nobody caught her! She was free! Wow, that breeze felt so great. She looked at either side of her as they continued to talk.

"They both look super amazing."

"They're in a sea of Columbia blue gowns, Britt, they look _exactly_ the same."

"Yeah, but Santana's earrings match her awesome pink shoes and Q's hair looks so shiny, like cotton candy."

It was Beth's turn to pipe in. "Cotton candy doesn't shine, mom."

"Quinn's does. Her... candy—"

"Don't be gross," she heard mama chide. Well, it didn't _sound_ gross, but she could do without another unicorn and rainbows rant.

Mama almost leapt out of her seat when the speech ended. The whole crowd erupted in applause—maybe they were as relieved as Beth was that it was over! She happily joined them.

She felt as the only sane person in her family when names started being called and her mothers openly wept on either side of her. She looked down to find their hands linked on her lap and smiled.

Being the only kid she knew with a household that had a very unfair (and sometimes overwhelming) parent/child ratio could get confusing at times. Her friends would ask her why she had so many mothers. She just did. That's the world she knew. Kids at school didn't have the same kind of family; according to her moms, that was okay. They were unique, but that didn't mean she should be embarrassed. The other kids just needed to learn to accept differences (and they really did, considering she wasn't the freak who ate glitter or anything).

Her friend Erica was always going on and on _and on_ about how much she hated her mother's boyfriend. In a way, Beth was glad she didn't have to worry about that. Her moms never got boyfriends. Ever. Well, Britt and Santana were each other's girlfriends, but Rachel and Quinn never brought anyone home to meet her. (She was at Erica's watching the new Selena Gomez concert when her mom made a big deal of introducing Drew as her "new dad". It was _super_ awkward.) She once asked Rachel why Quinn wasn't her girlfriend; it'd be so easy, because they liked each other and they lived together and they were her moms. They were already _there_.

She'd never seen Rachel's eyes go that wide—and she's got some pretty big eyes.

Quinn was always her mommy. She called Britt 'mom' the first time at the park. She was sitting pretty on the bench (Rachel's request), watching the squirrels, while Britt risked her life on the swings. (They terrified her. They could go so _high_.) Beth's first instinct was to yell 'MOM!' for the madness to stop. Britt didn't make a big deal of it, so she just never stopped. It got easier to call the others that as well; they shared the same space, they reprimanded and encouraged her just the same, the four of them seemed to love her _and_ each other just the same. So it was very simple to see them as a unit. As her _moms_.

Rachel became 'mama' after this one time they baked cupcakes in the kitchen and this Queen song started and Rachel cried into her spatula. (Again with the _eyes_. Beth took the hint and would always smile when that song came on.)

Santana wanted to be different. She'd said mama was supposed to be hers and she and Rachel started arguing above her head and mommy made them "take it to the bedroom, not in front of the child, _please_". It worked and Santana became 'mamí'. Beth didn't need them arguing to know that. She'd been calling Santana that since she was three, when she started babysitting her and some other kids in the building while everyone else was at school or work. It was their thing. She just hadn't known it was another word for 'mom'. Beth giggled when Santana high-fived her.

She felt her her hand being tugged gently and looked up at mama, who was furrowing her eyebrows at her and trying—_trying_—to look mad (her eyes were _so_ red from crying). "Did you put your hair up?"

Uh-oh.

Beth pointed at the stage. "Look, they're coming down!"

Britt squeaked and Rachel's eyes shot at that general direction and Beth held her hand tight. "Oh, finally! Come on."

They wove through the mad crowd to look for Quinn and Santana, who were holding each other tightly. Sure enough, they were crying. (What was it with all the crying? She had graduated kindergarten last week and she had been _fine_, thank you very much.) Mommy was the first to see them and picked her up as if she weighed nothing and put their foreheads together. "Hi, baby," she said. Her smile was so big that Beth felt something in her chest.

_Oh._

Before she could feel her first tear fall, she squealed as she was pulled between Britt and Santana and they twirled her around. She caught a glimpse of her other moms kissing and she thought she would feel grossed out, but she felt responsible and sort of proud. She wasn't sure she was allowed to see that, though.

She had her arms around mamí's neck when the four most awesome women she knew squished her in a group hug and whispered 'I love you's between them.

She was not sure who they were meant for.

She was not even sure it mattered.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Thanks for all the follows, favorites and reviews, especially with so little to go on!

**BTW, this is a MAJOR REWRITE. It encompasses all the scenes that were previously posted and goes all the way up to the events of 2x15. **

Huge thanks to Frings for the help with the core of this story. Honestly, there'd be no story at all without her input. (And for pointing me towards the 'submit' button.)

The rest of junior year is in the next chapter, to be posted later this week.

..

"Do you wanna keep her?"

Quinn is ready to say no, but she keeps her eyes forward and returns the question, "Do _you_?"

She hears Puck sigh and shuffle against the glass partition of the nursery. Figures. He even _named_ the baby.

When they're both quiet for a moment longer, she needs to know one last thing. "Did you love me?"

"Yes." He doesn't hesitate and her heart breaks. "Especially now."

She doesn't know what that means, so she smiles. It's all she has right now. His smile fades a little when he raises his eyes to look at something over her shoulder.

"Which one is yours?" Shelby Corcoran approaches the glass in line with them. Why is she even here? Vocal Adrenaline won, they lost. And she won't take her eyes off the baby. Something inside Quinn flares.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Shelby ignores her completely. "Ah, I see her now," she chuckles. "She looks like you."

Quinn almost scoffs. The baby's _perfect_. Of course she would look nothing at all like Lucy.

"Does she have a name?"

"Beth," Puck and Quinn say in unison. Shelby looks directly at them for the first time and Quinn's hands grip the railing below the glass a little tighter.

"Pretty." Shelby says softly. "I like that name."

Quinn feels Puck's hand cover hers and Shelby's eyes don't miss it.

"Congratulations."

.

Quinn doesn't know when exactly she started breaking in cold sweat and she began to tune out the world around her. She thinks it might've been between Shelby Corcoran's retreat and her mother gently saying "Let's go home, girls." All she knows is that she's now dry-heaving on the toilet, finding it extremely hard to breathe and trying to come up with a plan to make Rachel Berry leave her house.

It's a daunting task at a horrible, _horrible_ moment.

Rachel was waiting on her front step, a plate of something in her hands, while her mother helped her out of the car and Puck trailed after them with the baby in the car seat. Quinn wasn't ready to look at her child—_her_ child—and _definitely_ _not_ ready for the Berry brand of welcoming committee.

She wanted a dark room. No voices. No crying. No I'm-sorry-or-whatever-it-was cookies.

She didn't want to pray, either. God hasn't been listening to her in awhile.

Instead, she darted past Berry and nearly skidded to her knees in front of the toilet, where she proceeded to puke hospital oatmeal and water and hasn't been able to leave since.

Her mother tried to help, but Quinn kicked the bathroom door shut and held the toilet seat. Strangely enough, being stripped of her dignity in front of Rachel Berry (she's not sure how long they stood there watching before her mother stepped forward) was slowly making her feel more human.

That doesn't mean she wants her in her home, though.

That felt odd. Her _home_, the place she hasn't set foot in since Russell kicked her out. Her mother, the woman who decided to reach out to her at the last possible minute. Her baby, who she had yet to have a moment alone with.

She misses Mercedes. It's the first thing that occurs to her when she feels her panic attack subsiding. Isn't that strange? She's certain there are more important things right now, but that's what sticks.

She shuffles against the opposing wall and tips her head back, eyes closed. She hasn't cried and she won't. She just needs another moment.

Of course that's when Rachel decides it's appropriate to just enter the bathroom.

"Go away," Quinn rasps.

Rachel doesn't answer. Quinn hears some quiet movements around her and a light gush of air as Rachel settles around her. She's a little startled when she hears the voice so close to her. "I brought you something."

Quinn is silent. Maybe if she focuses on getting her breathing back to normal Berry will disappear.

"They're madeleines."

No such luck.

"They're shaped like flowers and I tried to make them in rainbow colors to make them seem more festive."

"To better match my mood?"

Rachel gulps. "Mercedes told me you didn't—you weren't feeling all that great, so I took it upon myself to see if you were ready to go back to school on Monday, so that—"

"No," Quinn interrupts.

"No… as in 'no, I'm not going back to school' or 'no, I'm not ready to—"

"I'm not ready for a lot of things, Rachel. Your dropping in unannounced and then barging into my bathroom are currently top two."

She hears Rachel's harsh sigh and purses her lips. Maybe she went too far, but one thing she'd always remember: Berry has thick skin.

"Quinn, I may not know what you're going through—"

"That's right, you _don't_."

"—but I see a baby girl out there who could've had a good, loving parent—" Rachel's voice hitches at that. Maybe she knows about Shelby and Quinn doesn't want to feel bad for her. She _doesn't_. Rachel finds it in herself to continue."But instead she's here. _You_ chose her." She speaks a little bit softer this time. "I saw Noah settling her in the nursery. She's gorgeous."

Quinn could feel the smile in Rachel's voice.

"She looks like you."

It's not the first time she hears it and she remembers Shelby and then Lucy. She remembers the moment she decided to stand up for the baby.

"No, I mean… I guess." She swallows a lump that lodged in her throat. "I guess she does."

"She could still have good, loving parents. Noah's there for you. You have to try. I know you didn't choose to be pregnant, but you _did _choose this."

It hits her harder than she thought it would. She pulls her legs against her chest (as far as they will go, with that flabby belly still there) and rests her head between her knees. A long moment of silence and her own ragged breathing goes by before she says "Okay."

She's not _thanking _her.

"Okay," Rachel echoes, and Quinn hears her get up (and possily straighten her skirt). "We're rehearsing _To Sir, With Love_ to sing to Mr. Schuester at glee practice on Monday. I convinced everyone that we should have stools so you don't have to stand around for long periods of time."

She feels something moist run down her thigh. She opens her eyes and her vision is blurry. _Damn_.

"I know we lost and the club is most likely breaking up, but… we still have a few weeks left of school. We should appreciate everything we've done for each other."

Quinn doesn't ask about Finn. She just watches her tears trickle down her legs in a steady flow. "Okay," she repeats.

Rachel must still have a smidgen of awareness somewhere because she just slips out of the bathroom without another word. No extra noises outside the door let Quinn know she must be out of the house, too.

Nobody comes to fetch her. All she finds is a dark house, a faint light coming out of the guest room and follows it. It's a nursery, decorated in beige and lavender and she's not prepared for the breath that hitches and nearly halts her heartbeat.

_Beth_.

Not the baby. It's Beth. _Her_ Beth. Sleeping on her side in the crib, which is next to a big chair, where her mother also sleeps.

Quinn's eyes set on a plate of neatly arranged rainbow-colored madeleines on a side table. She sighs and takes a step forward, in more ways than one.

.

"Oh my God, are you actually—" Quinn would jump, but she doesn't want to risk knocking Beth off the bed. "Puck!"

"You said you don't know which one comes first," he says, without looking up from her laptop. "Doesn't hurt to look."

She has to inhale as deeply as she can so as not to fling the baby wipes pack at his head. "What _difference_ does it make? It's wipes, lotion, rash cream, powder and diaper."

"It's too much shit—" her eyes bug at him and he flails a hand at her "_Whatever_, there's gotta be an order. You can't just throw everything at her and close the damn diaper!"

She's exasperated already, her nostrils burn from the smell and her arms hurt from holding the baby's feet up the entire time they've been bickering. Beth, for her credit (and her mother's last shred of sanity), seems enthralled by her own fingers.

"We clean her, rub the products on. They're bound to work their magic when we close the diaper."

Puck looks at her like she's grown another head.

"_How_ have you been doing this two weeks? You're lucky she doesn't have a rotting skin rash right now!"

Quinn eyes the floor.

"I—my mom's been… changing her." Before Puck can say anything, she puts Beth's legs down and wrings her hands together. "I can't. Okay? It makes me wanna vomit." She gulps at the thought. Crap. She'd momentarily forgotten the smell in the room.

Puck closes the lid on the laptop and flanks Beth's other side, mirrorring Quinn's position. If she had to put money on it, she'd bet he was feeling as shitty a parent as she is right now.

"Your mom really does."

"Puck!"

"Sorry, I haven't done that either, I just—hand her to your mom."

Quinn scoffs. "And you have the _gall_ to call me out on it."

"At least I tried to _google_ _it_," he counters. "I can't be here all the time, I know I'd have tried to have that shit down by now."

It's not exactly an accusation as it is an admission, so she takes it with a sigh. "We're really bad at this, aren't we?"

"Well, have you done this before?"

True.

"No," she tries to smile. "I haven't."

He grabs her hand over the baby and squeezes.

.

Beth is not an easy baby. Quinn has half a mind to just hand her over to Rachel Berry, as she seems more like she came out of that nosy little diva than her.

After going a couple of days running on empty (mostly bacon and caffeine), Beth won't stop fussing and she gets a visit from Brittany late one afternoon. Quinn is walking around the living room, a _Who's the Boss?_ marathon playing in the background, bouncing a little jerkily, careful to hold Beth's head up when Britt just takes the baby and plants a series of little kisses all over her face. Beth giggles, that little traitor, sticks her clenched fists in her mouth and immetiately quiets. Britt keeps making faces at her and she watches with rapt attention, the minute Britt turns to say hello to Quinn, Beth grunts.

Britt turns back to her and says "Oh my god, you're super cute."

And there's Beth again, looking up at Britt like she's her whole damn world.

Quinn scoffs. "This is retribution. I spent so long going after Rachel Berry, figures I'd have an attention whore for a daughter."

Britt looks horrified and holds Beth closer to her chest, covering her ears. "You can't call her that, she's a baby!"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Figure of speech." She closes her eyes and rolls her neck. "I need a shower. And food."

"Why don't you go do that? I'll watch her."

Quinn could _weep_ right now. "Really?"

"Totally. Where's your mom?"

"She's not coming home for another hour," she rolls her neck again and arches her back. She needs to lie down or get a massage or a steam roller to put her out of her misery. "You usually come by earlier, what happened?"

"Oh, Santana just got home from the clinic and your house was on the way, so."

What? "Is she okay?"

"She's fine, her—" she looks down at Beth and whispers "—_boobs_ are gonna be sore for a few days, but she's gonna look hot."

Quinn feels lightheaded after shaking her head in confusion like a cartoon character. "Santana got a boob job?"

"Shh! _Beth_."

"She doesn't know words, plus she sees boobs every day, it's how she _lives_," Quinn snaps. She can't believe Santana went up against Coach's No Plastics rule. Maybe she quit? "Is she still in the squad?"

"Of course!"

Why it hasn't occurred to anyone else what a major Cheerios foul that is is beyond her. She also needs food, because for a second she saw two Britts and wondered if they'd be fit to care for Beth together while she showered.

Quinn darts upstairs, shouting orders over her shoulder.

When she's in the shower, the thought of Santana smuggling two sandbags under her top sends her into a manic fit of giggles that escalate into real sobs. It's okay when the water mingles with the tears and makes it seem like they were just not there at all.

.

It's Puck's turn with Beth and she (kind of reluctantly) gives her to him in favor of some quality time by the pool. One he doesn't have to clean. _Thank the Lord_, because she knows what happens and that thought just makes her shudder. She has _a divorcée mother_.

Quinn's easing into her two-piece and almost shrieks when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It's been nine weeks and her belly doesn't seem to want to leave her. There's nothing she can do about it in two minutes—the time it'll take Britt to arrive—so she opts for a plain white shirt over it. No way she's scrapping the whole thing because of one minor (she tells herself) detail. Her legs still look amazing.

Puck wolf-whistles, but it's not _that_ she notices. It's what's holding Beth.

Rachel Berry.

Quinn has to believe her chosen red-rimmed shades hide at least _half_ of her frustration. It's not the first time Puck has brought Rachel over to visit or watch her or… whatever it is that Rachel does on her spare time.

At least Berry's not in a bikini. Talk about overstaying her welcome. The last time she saw Rachel (aside from the Puck-approved visits) was the Sunday she came home from the hospital. She keeps willing Rachel away during the summer, but she keeps coming back. Not many words have been exchanged since, but Quinn likes it when a person is good with her child. It makes her feel proud for having made something other people can appreciate. (God knows that hasn't always been the truth.)

And, damn it, she's proud of that baby. Only Puck knows how much. (Everyone else thinks she's in over her head.

She's just not.)

Quinn hears an enthusiastic "Hi!" to her right and Brittany bounces in her backyard, a stack of tabloids under one arm (Quinn's request) and what seems like a Wonder Woman thermos under another. She doesn't see Britt for a while because she's making cooing noises at Beth with Rachel.

She knows they aren't friends, but…

"Q, you have to taste this," Britt says enthusiastically, walking towards her with the thermos. (And that _insane _body in a bikini and purple shorts and _yes_, she's jealous.)

The thing about Brittany is that _nothing_ is weird to her. So Quinn can't stop trying to decipher Rachel's _raison d'etre_ in her house and decides to ask Britt what gives. She gets this dismissive chuckle in response.

"Come on, can you not like, _see _it?"

"No, not at all," she replies kind of defensively. Quinn hates it when something goes over her head.

"She's dating _Finn_," Britt states, as if that's not rubbing it in, "and you're _Quinn_, so."

She draws a total blank.

"It rhymes," Britt explains matter-of-factly.

What on earth?

"She must be bored, you're the next best thing."

Quinn should know better than to question Brittany's logic. But it bothers her more than it should.

.

Tucking Beth in for the night is a breeze. She sticks a little longer, making sure she's on her side and her pillow's in place and the lighting's just right. Beth can be very particular about it. She still has to watch for a little while to see if there's any trouble. Puck calls it smothering (she wasn't even sure he knew that word), she just calls it attention to detail.

When she gets out of the nursery, Puck's standing in the hall, holding a sixpack of something that fires off all her alarms.

"I am _not_ drinking with you," she warns.

"It's light beer, babe. Besides I wanna talk to you about something." Quinn starts to speak but he interrupts. "Something that has _nothing_ to do with getting into your pants. Promise."

He's never promised her anything, not even loving their child as much as he does, so she believes him. They go out to the front porch and he hands her a Bud Light. She's not sure she should be drinking right now, but she takes it and settles next to him on the loveseat. There's this easy silence at first.

"You're not gonna yawn and put your arm around me, will you?"

"Nah. I don't think you'd be into that."

That startles Quinn and she raises an eyebrow at him. "What's 'that'?"

"Getting into _this_," he makes a move to box his hands around his junk. _Oh sweet Jesus._ "Try'na make another Puckerman. You're not into that."

Thank. _God_. "What _am_ I into?" she spurs him on, taking a gulp of her surprisingly light beer.

He shrugs. "I don't know. But it's not me."

She doesn't have it in her to roll her eyes, because, well, duh. So she smiles and settles into him. "Is that a problem?"

"No," he sees _this _as the right moment to put his arm around her shoulder. "Of course not."

She's never felt more relieved than she does right now.

.

Quinn misses Santana. Nobody's heard from her since the last day of school except Brittany. She expected Rachel to be all over that, but she seemed more preoccupied with the milestones of her and Finn's relationship.

(Beth started holding herself up. Beat _that_.)

She jogs outside and stops by the mailbox, looking inside while she waits. There is an Ohio Family Law stamped envelope. She doesn't have to open it to know it's Russell Fabray's child support agreement once again coming through. She just hopes her mom is getting the checks, she doesn't want anything more to do with that man than sharing some chromosomes with him.

Whoever outright _refuses_ to see her Beth gets on her black list.

Quinn doesn't have much time to dwell on it as she keeps her warm-up in place, so she pushes the mailbox lever back down and uses it as a steady post to do some crunches. A familiar voice chirps in the background. "I'm here! Sorry, I had to wrestle Lord Tubbington for my Lucky Charms."

Quinn smiles. "You ready?"

"I think I should be asking _you_ that!"

"I'm ready, Britt," Quinn almost whines. "My closet's been asking for me to go back."

"Well, we don't wanna make it mad," Britt says as she puts her ankle on the maibox and easily brings her knee up to her cheek. Quinn's words fail her at that. "Are you ready to lose the baby weight?"

"Better. I'm ready to make it back into the squad."

.

When Coach Sylvester gives her back her captaincy, it's not without some effort. _Some_ effort. She just needs to drop the names of the church groups that are willing to give Coach back her confetti cannons. (She'll have to talk her mom into that later.)

The little bird that tells Coach about Santana's boob job is just the cherry on top. _Whatever_. She didn't say anything and _really_ doesn't deserve the beating she gets from Santana in the hall.

.

The pounding on her door won't stop until she gets it herself, because she knows who it is. She eases Beth into a pillow-circled area on her bed, where she had been catching up on her reading, and goes downstairs to let Santana in.

"It's about time, you jackass."

"_Again_, I didn't tell Coach."

"Well, _whatever_, she knows. And I can't say it didn't feel good to shove you against the lockers."

Quinn raises one eyebrow while Santana breezes past her.

"You know what I mean," she says as she throws herself on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I, like… didn't mean to do that."

It's the closest to an apology as she'll ever get from Santana. Quinn eases on the couch next to Santana's feet.

"Berry got me on this not-so-blind-date with Sam Evans…"

Santana gets up and points a finger at her face. "I _knew _that hobbit rigged the competition!"

"It's not like that—"

"Oh, it _so_ is. I, for one, had my bets on Evans picking Hummel, but maybe he's _not _gay," Santana pauses and smirks. "Hell, maybe not _gay enough_."

"I… don't think he's gay."

Santana crosses her arms and eyes her.

"I'll check," Quinn placates, just to keep Santana off her back.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

.

"I don't know, I think I wanna be Frank-N-Furter," Brittany breaks the silence and Quinn almost pricks her thumb with the needle through the sequin.

Rachel speaks up from behind her in the risers. "Brittany, I think Mercedes will probably kill you if you say that."

"We'd _never_ find the body," Kurt completes. Britt shrugs and keeps thumbing through the script. She's the only one not doing any actual work in the room; she's sitting indian style on top of the piano, Quinn is trying to put the final touches into all of the Columbia outfits with sequins, which Santana is sorting by color on the floor. Tina is helping Kurt get the sewing machine going again and Rachel is sitting quietly—as quietly as physically possible for _her_, anyway—in the background, combing the wigs and neatly placing them on head mannequins.

Quinn's had her eye set on the short pink bob and will fight anyone for the right to wear it.

Then again, up to this moment, she's only been cast as Magenta, while Britt has two roles and doesn't even seem to care about the project.

_Damn_.

Quinn scoots forward in her seat, suddenly feeling like she's absorbing Rachel Berry's personality by osmosis. "Britt," she warns, "we've talked about this. You have the most accurate Columbia costume and it won't fit anybody else."

Britt sighs and drops the script. "Then I don't wanna be Magenta either. It's too much pressure and you won't let me be the star, so."

Rachel groans behind her and Quinn supresses a laugh.

Kurt looks up from the sewing machine. "So I guess somebody else's gotta be the understudy to the understudy. Any takers?"

Tina straightens a roll of lace to his right. "Do not even _look_ at me, I'm not altering that hoop skirt again, our hips are totally different."

Santana holds both her hands to her chest and smiles angelically. "Well, I'm _honored_ to be the sole player of Magenta, thank you."

"I'll do it," Quinn decides to pipe in.

"The fuck?" Santana turns around to look at her.

"I'll be the understudy for both. I don't have the time for full rehearsals everyday and God knows I know more about this show than either of you."

"Hey, we watched the damn musical yesterday and I had to resist the urge to smother you with a pillow because you kept pausing it every two minutes!"

So what if she'd felt like making sure they _got_ the idea of the story? Nobody wants Santana and Brittany Improv with _parents_ in the audience.

Rachel perks up at that. "Wow, Quinn, I'm impressed with your level of commitment to our musical."

"I like _Rocky Horror_, Rachel, no need to make a fuss about it."

Santana gets up. "Whatever, I need a shake. Britt, you coming?"

"Uh, no," she picks the script back up, "I think Janet's dress is gonna look really cute on me."

"Oh," Santana smiles when Rachel drops one of the mannequin heads. "Good luck with _that_!"

Before she can exit the room, Rachel darts down in step with her and Quinn can hear her ask Santana, "What do I have to do to have you convince her to drop it? Name your price."

If Quinn didn't have her feet tangled in ribbons and thread, she'd follow them just to see where that conversation was going. As soon as she looks back down, though, Ms. Pillsbury enters the choir room with a perky smile.

"Ladies, this looks incredible!"

As Tina gives her the run down of the process, Britt hops off the piano, picks up the blue wig and mannequin head that Rachel knocked down in pursuit of Santana and sits next to Quinn. Ms. Pillsbury claps lightly and chirps, "You're doing a wonderful job. Honestly. I'm joining you tomorrow afternoon to finalize the concept, so let me know if you need more fabric or props before the bell rings today, okay?" She turns to Kurt. "However, my visit today isn't show-related. Kurt, can I see you in my office, please?"

His expression sombers and she gives him a sympathetic smile. Quinn is pretty sure it has something to do with the constant harrassment he has been getting from Dave Karofsky, which has been getting progressively worse.

They quietly leave the room and Tina picks up her book bag. "That sucks…"

"I know."

After a beat, she sighs. "I'm pretty fried, I'm going home, if you guys don't mind."

"We'll clean up," Britt nods at Tina, who smiles and breezes past them and into the hall. Quinn casts her eyes down and thinks about what it must be like to try to love and just try to _be_ and have your life threatened by it.

And if her daughter's future would still have that same shadow lurking overhead.

Before she can shudder at the thought, Britt snickers to her side and Quinn is met with a sight akin to that of ET walking out of Elliott's closet: Britt has a blue wig on, supposedly a short bob, but she can't tell with wisps of it pointing all over the damn place.

She collapses in a fit of giggles and tries to straighten the wig to no avail. Her hands just fail her and Britt reaches behind her for the pink wig, which is perfectly in place on the mannequin.

Quinn's laughter subsides when she feels Britt placing the wig atop her head. Something inside her flutters, because, after the whole Columbia understudy debacle, now she knows for sure she's going to be the one to wear it. (There are other wigs. Pink is just _hers_.) Britt tucks Quinn's ponytail into it and smiles. They take each other in for a moment before bursting into laughter again.

"You look ridiculous," Quinn wheezes.

"I feel like I'm in a Katy Perry video!"

"You have the official red wig, you'll be fine."

"Oh, I know, Artie's been telling me how awesome I'm gonna be tap-dancing in _Time Warp_."

Quinn is impressed—and mildly intrigued. "So this thing with you and Artie… Is it serious?" She'd been looking for the right moment to ask, which hasn't been easy—Santana has been watching Britt like a hawk since the duets competition.

"Yeah. I like him."

"Good."

"Don't tell Santana, though."

Flashbacks of cheerleading camp and some unfortunate locker room sightings hit her like a ton of bricks.

"I _value_ my own life, thank you."

"What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"You and Sam."

Oh.

"He's the nicest guy. Beth loves his hair, it's cute when she tries to grab it," Quinn smiles easily. "And I can just picture him is his prom tux." It's strange that these are the first things she could come up with when faced with the question.

"But like, do you do stuff?"

"'Stuff'?"

Britt laughs softly. "Like making out."

"No," Quinn is surprised at how quickly that came out. She and Sam kiss, mostly. "Hands to himself at all times." Oh God, this keeps getting weirder.

"Why, though? It's so good."

Quinn fidgets and is suddenly aware of the pink wig she's wearing when it tickles her ears. There is _no_ way this situation could get more absurd than it is at this very moment, so she goes for it.

"I don't feel like it. And the last time I let someone touch me, I got a kid out of it."

"I don't mean sex, really, just…" Quinn feels a feather-like graze slowly going up her thigh, dangerously approaching the pleats of her skirt. She's not sure what her body's doing right now and feels a tinge of embarrassment at the goosebumps and the way her breath hitches. This is her _friend_ right here.

And this is… _interesting_. And new.

"Like that, isn't it nice?" Britt doesn't even hesitate and the sound of her voice doesn't match this moment _at all_—Quinn knows that if she tries to produce a sound, she'll fail miserably.

Britt chuckles. "You look super cute in this wig," and punctuates that with a lingering peck to Quinn's lips and removes her hand when it touches the edge of the fabric. She's up in a single bound, removing her blue wig and tossing it on the nearest chair. "Wanna go watch kittens at the mall store?"

Quinn still doesn't trust her voice, so she just shakes her head.

"Okay. I gotta meet Artie tonight, so see you tomorrow at practice?"

She nods. As Britt is about to walk out the door, Quinn manages to repeat, "So you and Artie…"

"Yeah," Britt says with a smile and, with a flourish, she's out.

Quinn just needs a moment.

.

It doesn't take Puck half the night to organize a party to commemorate their football championship. In light of their victory, it seems now the entire school wants to be in their presence and celebrate. It's easy to stick to a team that's winning, and even though that's always been part of her moral code, she can't help but feel annoyed with everyone right now. They're at the top, but it seems like there's no one batting for _her_.

No one has her back.

Britt keeps dancing up and down, wheeling Artie around and singing songs only they seem to know. She twirled Quinn around on the field—as she did everyone else. (With maybe the exception of Lauren. But they hugged, sort of.) It's all a big joke to her, only Quinn doesn't think it's very funny.

They _kissed_. She felt more in ten seconds with her best friend than months with her boyfriend.

Yet she seems to be only one to remember it. Britt doesn't bring it up, maybe because it's nothing new for her. But _it is_ for Quinn, it's not something that—it just _doesn't happen_, okay. It's not supposed to happen.

None of this was.

She squeezes her eyes shut and her knuckles are most likely white on the edges of the bench in the locker room. She _can't_ include her baby on that list. (It happens from time to time.) And she _won't_. It's a mess, a whole set of circumstances that were not supposed to have happened at all, but they did and here she is. Her perfect thing.

Something good comes out of everything, right?

Right?

The girls choose that moment to dance and skip their way into the locker room, Britt and Santana holding flat red boxes under their arms, Rachel, Mercedes, Tina and Lauren with football helmets under theirs. They look like a weird, yet very united team with their coordinated pace, dresses and boots and bling and heels and… whatever it is that Tina's wearing.

"Ready to party?" Lauren shrieks. Quinn jumps a little at that, but has learned to tolerate Zizes due to Puck's sudden infatuation with her. Dating the school's stud is doing wonders for her rep and Quinn is not gonna begrudge her that.

"Ready," she says, as she closes the lid of the red box that holds her Cheerios uniform. She can't say she wants to open this box ever again. She's just done.

Soon enough, two more boxes pile on top of hers and Santana sags to her side. "It was for a good cause, right? Please tell me it was for a good cause."

"It was," Quinn's tone is firm. "Don't ever look back. Coach doesn't deserve us."

Santana runs a reverent finger over the golden plate that bears her name on the box and buries her face on the crook of Quinn's neck. They're both startled when Zizes smashes her helmet against a locker and throws her hands in the air. "Party, suckers! I'm driving and I ain't waitin' for nobody."

"_Must_ she do that?" Santana murmurs against her shoulder. Tina and Mercedes place their helmets on a nearby bench and follow Lauren.

"Girls, I heard there's a keg and Jäger, now I don't know what that is, but I'm hella interested," Mercedes chuckles and leaves.

Britt perks up. "Okay, I wanna know what that is!"

"No, you _don't_," Rachel says, making a face as she sits on a bench with her helmet on her lap.

Santana turns a little to face her. "Bad Jäger bomb memories, Berry?"

"No, as a matter of fact I dropped and broke a bottle of Jägermeister from my dads' liquor cabinet looking for my pet hamster when I was seven, the smell is indescribable and I don't think I can have it near me again."

"You gotta tell me more about that cabinet because it sounds _amazing_," Santana points at her.

"_Anyway_," Rachel sighs and smiles. "You'll probably make fun of me for it, but I'm proud of what you guys did for the team yesterday."

Britt sits next to her and Quinn rolls her eyes. "Football or glee?" Santana asks.

"Both. We all came together and… I think it paid off."

Quinn feels a tinge of disappointment at their initial act of resignation, but if Berry's feeling forgiving today… "It's nothing. It was time."

"You're holding mighty tight to that helmet there, planning a heist?" Santana says with not nearly as much malice as Quinn knows she's intended, but only because Cheerios will probably be a sore subject with her for a while. If she has so much as a _sip_ of beer tonight, she will bawl. "You know that's school property."

"I know," Rachel says, running her fingertips over it. Britt hugs her in comfort. Quinn half wonders if she's gonna kiss Berry too. "It was a good moment."

Britt squeezes her side and pulls her up. "Come on, let's go get Artie and we'll drive to Puck's! Parties and bombs!"

"Parties and bombs!" Rachel giggles and follows her out.

Quinn feels her mouth hang open in disbelief. Britt doesn't care. She just doesn't fucking care. Put a pink wig on a punching bag and she'd probably kiss it too. Quinn's just done with this.

She runs a hand through her hair. "I don't wanna wait for Artie."

"A-fucking-men."

"So can I ride with you?", she asks Santana.

"Sure. I just need to grab my chem book for the weekend, meet me in the parking lot," she says, slowly getting up and putting all her frustration and dramatic flair on each step she takes toward the door.

Quinn eyes the stack of boxes one more time and gets up before she gives into the urge to topple the damn thing to the floor.

The hallway is mostly empty, save for Karofsky and Finn talking near the water fountain. She leans her back against the lockers and watches Karofsky stomp away; she's not entirely surprised, considering he was against the whole thing to begin with and only Finn would be dense enough to think all was fine and dandy in the social strata.

But when Finn walks by, it's like part of her just shuts off. She doesn't think. In a beat, she's talking about the game, how great he was and it's second nature to her. It's the first conversation they ever had—she'd had her eyes on the quarterback and he was sweet, good enough. Here is he again; sweet, still good, somehow looking at her again with those same soft eyes, before Puck, before anything.

Just a guy and a girl and a common interest.

She feels a twinge of something that once was and she can see that crown on his head, sharing their first dance as Prom royalty.

"…it reminded me of why I loved you" comes out without her permission—she's basically thinking out loud. Kissing Finn is easy. She can't think of Rachel. Or Sam. (She thinks of Brittany.) She thinks of _them_. That perfectly nice boy. She walks away.

Santana has started the car and Quinn barely makes it in before she peels out of the spot. "What's with _you_?" Quinn asks, struggling with her seat belt.

She's met with silence.

It isn't until they're parked a block away from Puck's house and Santana yanks the key from the ignition, that she speaks without so much as looking at Quinn. "Next time you go round kissing everything that moves, don't you even _dare_ waiting for a fucking ride from me."

Quinn grabs her arm before she can get out of the car. "What the hell, Santana!"

"Britt doesn't care, Britt's not _going to_ care." There's more than a little resentment there and Quinn wonders why. "She has the crip to keep her busy and you should know better than to go after Finn again. Show a little bit more respect for Sam, for fuck's sake."

Well, that's rich. _Now_ she's pissed. "Since _when_ do you care about Sam?"

"He's the only guy in that fucking school that doesn't make me want to pull a Frankenteen and kick a chair in his face and speaking of? Watch your back."

She can't even begin to understand that because Santana's leaving the car so fast Quinn might get locked in if she doesn't follow suit. Santana doesn't wait around for her, either. She doesn't know how Santana found out about Brittany, but all signs point to the moment she went to fetch her book—they were fine in the locker room and Santana's not exactly known for bottling things up. Her best shot is just asking Britt, but she's just so tired of this idiocy she debates going into Puck's house at all.

An icy breeze blows a strand of hair into her eyes and she tucks her cardigan a little tighter around body. The drama seems to be spiking, Puck must have cracked the Jäger by now and her house is only a few blocks south.

Somebody's gotta be a parent tonight.

.

It's not long before Sam breaks up with her. (And Santana's bitch move doesn't ease the guilt at all.)

.

Quinn is careful not to let her eyes slip closed when she's resting on her back on the couch, with Beth fast asleep on her chest. Her light blond hair is starting to curl at the tips and Quinn focuses on twirling her index finger around it here and there.

Judy pads into the living room in her nightgown and settles on the other end of the couch.

"What?" Quinn asks when her mother looks at them.

"Nothing," Judy smiles. "I miss holding her like this."

"It's okay, I've got her."

Judy takes Quinn's feet and places them on her lap. "It's not something I _mind _doing, Quinnie."

She feels bad for feeling so defensive, but she's tired of overcompensating for everything and leaving a trail of failure in her wake. She needs to be able to do this _one_ thing right. (So far all she's managed to hold onto was her straight A average.)

Quinn coughs lightly and, like every other time in the past couple of weeks, she mentally curses Santana. "I had to stay away from her too long because of a stupid mistake."

Judy chuckles. "Sweetie, you had mono. Pretty much every 17-year-old has it at some point."

"Yeah, well, not every 17-year-old has a child, and if they do, they at least _think_ before they do something that stupid."

"Okay, first of all, stop berating yourself like that. Like it or not, you're young. You make mistakes and you're going to continue to make mistakes. " She spoke with a tone that was firm but low, eyeing the baby a few times to make sure she was still asleep. "It took me too long to make up for mine, but I'm trying." She pauses and gulps. "_I'm trying_, Quinn. I need the same effort from you."

For a while, Quinn cannot say anything. She just takes Beth's limp hand and wraps her little fingers around her thumb. "I can't fail her, mom. Not _her_."

"You're not failing anybody." Judy treads carefully. "Isn't Finn coming over tomorrow?"

"Yes. We're doing homework and talking about prom strategies"

Judy's face lights up. "That's wonderful! There's nothing keeping you from doing this, Quinnie. Beth is not here to weigh you down. And you _have_ me."

Quinn looks up at her now and measures her sincerity.

It's finally there.

.

Quinn lights three vanilla spice candles near the window and dims the lights in her room. She checks the playpen and Beth is sitting in a corner, incredibly focused on trying to gather the plush stars Rachel gave her for Christmas. Her grasp is still a little feeble, so it's cute when they tumble down, she gets frustrated and has to start all over again.

Beth is entertained and it won't be long before she's down. Quinn settles on her bed and lights a lamp to pick up her book where she left off. She doesn't make it four pages when there's a light knock on her door.

"Come in, mom."

It's Santana who slowly opens the door and that immediately worries Quinn, because a gentle Santana is not something she's used to. And she looks like she's been crying.

"What's wrong?"

Santana closes the door and lingers a little, crossing her arms and clearing her throat. "I'm in love with Britt."

Quinn's excellent reflexes are what keep her book from falling to the floor. In fact, she uses it as something to clench her fist around.

"I'm sorry for ratting you out to Sam, it was shitty of me, but I was jealous."

Quinn still can't move.

"Can you, like, _say_ something please?"

Quinn shuffles on her bed and sets her book aside. "How long have you known?"

Santana's laugh is humorless. "All my life? But Ms. Holliday did me the favor to hit me over the head with it today."

So now _Landslide_ makes sense. She just remembers sitting there, feeling a little smug that something's reduced Santana to tears in front of everyone.

(Not that she's _proud_ of it, but you know. Small victories.)

Santana scuffs her boots on the carpet and Quinn doesn't remember having ever seen her look this vulnerable. She just raises the pillow next to her against the headboard and Santana seems to takes the hint, because she sheds her jacket, toes off her boots and lays down on her side, facing Quinn.

Quinn's last scrap of resistance falls away when she hears Santana sniffle. She eases down on the pillow and Santana settles into her side, draping her arm across her stomach.

"Did you tell Britt?"

"Yeah."

"What did she say?"

"Artie," and Quinn feels the first baby step to sympathy. "And she said she's mine when she's single again, I mean. What even…"

Quinn's breath hitches at that and she has to do all in her power to will that feeling away. She can't really name it jealousy, but something akin to loss. And feeling like she so clearly lost a game she hadn't even begun playing hurts.

"You're quiet."

Santana's voice is so tiny and she doesn't know if she can form words of comfort, if that's what Santana needs. She can be here, she can listen. But there's nothing she can say that won't make her sound like a jealous idiot.

"I know _she_ kissed _you_ and… She does that, don't hate her for it."

It's strange that Santana's defending Brittany at a moment like this and the idea that she just goes around kissing anyone? Santana seems to be watching the wheels in her mind turn and completes, "It's not everyone. I know she keeps saying that, but it's not true. She likes you, she told me."

Quinn gulps. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know." Santana holds on a little tighter. "But if she has to be with anyone other than me, I hope to hell it's you."

There's no mirth or amusement in Quinn's laugh. She just feels her stomach drop and Santana looks up at her. "I'm—No. I'm not dating a girl."

The teary smile on Santana's face is a little infuriating.

"Okay."

"I'm not."

"I said okay." Santana settles her chin a little tighter on Quinn's collarbone. "Jeez."

They stay quiet for a while. It's fair to say she had a crush on Brittany after the freaking tailspin she sent Quinn into after the kiss. However, nothing ever had her thinking she wanted to date her. She just wanted to talk to her best friend, have some way of understanding what had happened between them, but life got in the way.

"Where's Beth?"

Quinn raises her head a little and sees that Beth is slumped over the plush stars, drifting off yet still fighting it a little. She knows it won't be long before she's out. "Right there."

Santana rolls over and smiles a little. "She's not annoying."

"Is that the best you got? That's my kid."

"The blanket compliments her skin tone? The hell you want me to say, she's a _baby_."

Quinn knows better than to press Santana on this. She walks over to the playpen, tucks Beth in, blows out the candles and gets back into bed. "Come back here, you jerk."

Santana chuckles and cuddles her side again. "She's cute."

"That's better," Quinn closes her eyes, circling her arms around Santana after shutting off the lamp.

Finn rolling with Artie into the McKinley swimming pool is her last thought before falling asleep.

..


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** So this is the end of junior year. The lines used in the first scene are from the song _Love to a Monster_, by Okkervil River.

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this story, it means the world to me, especially when it's this total crackship without any smut so far. I promise it's coming. :)

..

"If you say _'the world isn't so sweet or so tender'_, won't it make a better statement?"

"Where is it?" Quinn squints at the paper.

Rachel crawls over and uses the tip of her pencil to scan down Quinn's page. "There." It says '_I think she's ready to see that the world is so sweet and so tender' _and it's followed by a bunch of struck lines and the nifty design of a stick figure hanging from a rope, wearing a skirt with a star on it. (She was bored.) And if Rachel acknowledges it, Quinn has to give it to her: that's quite a poker face.

"Oh. Well… I thought this was supposed to be a love song. Happy, at least."

Rachel sits back on her legs and rests her back on the foot of Quinn's bed.

"It is," she says carefully, "but it doesn't have to reflect on every line. Isn't that how life is?"

Oh _God_. Quinn fluffs the pillows next to the night stand and chews on her bottom lip. Rachel had been baiting her the entire time they'd been sitting here, writing this song. Quinn wanted to win as much as everyone else and the general consensus had been to take on the anthem theme with original songs. Mr. Schue seemed to believe that would win them the competition and that was good enough for her. But _another_ competition had been on her mind when she supported Rachel's determination to pen the solo. Then Finn agreed and before she could back out, here she was, composing love sonnets with Rachel Berry.

The Finn elephant in the room seemed to have perched its behind on the stack of paper between them on the carpet.

"Sure," Quinn sighs. "Let's change it."

"Does it ring true to you?"

"What does?"

"The line, _'I think she's ready to see that the world isn't so sweet or so tender'_."

"Yeah, I think it does. It sounds a little depressing, but you can have that as your outlook but still want to be with that person who's not that good for you." She tries not to think of her own relationship. She does, however, force herself to remember the goal. There is an objective, a point to all of this.

(It feels like the Finn elephant doesn't even chance an over the shoulder glance at her.)

Rachel casts her eyes down. "Is that so?"

Apparently, two hours is her bullshit limit.

"What's your point, Rachel?"

"You ignored me in Celibacy Club, I thought—maybe this would get us to have a more open dialogue."

"Rachel—"

"You and Finn are together, it's obvious and I don't understand why you would do this right now. Why am I here, in your house?"

"We need to write a song." Rachel's never been this forward with her.

"Until he said he believed me, you didn't. Now we're here."

Quinn doesn't deny anything. That doesn't mean she wants to talk about it. She's not jealous of Finn, that's not why they're here right now. Quinn kissed him. He pursued her. They had a score to settle, mistakes to fix. They wanted to be okay again. She likes him, always has. If that gets her a Prom Queen crown, so be it.

She runs her hands down her face and mentally kicks herself for not giving this job to Mercedes in the first place. "Rachel, I don't—"

Beth starts fussing in the crib on the other side of her bed. Quinn walks past Rachel and picks the baby up, trying to soothe her. _Wait_. Maybe taking her time with this will probably piss off Rachel enough to give the idea they're not being productive and make her leave. Would this even work? Beth wails and she moves her to the other side of her chest and walks around the room. Rachel's worried eyes make her sigh. Quinn really wants to win Regionals. Maybe calling Mercedes in as a mediator could work…

She notices Beth giggling at something behind her and doesn't really know where her head was, because Rachel is standing there, smiling, holding Beth's little hand over Quinn's shoulder. "Sorry she's being disruptive."

"That's nonsense," Rachel waves a dismissive hand. And apparently she's dropped the attitude as well. "Is it nap time?"

"Actually no, I shifted her schedule a bit today so we could work on this."

"Oh." Rachel bites her lip and tentatively extends her hands. "May I?"

Quinn is still a little stunned, but Beth forces herself towards Rachel, so Quinn gives her over. Beth immediately rests her head on Rachel's shoulder and plays with the star necklace she wears. _What in the world? _It's not that Beth is picky, but this is insane. Is Rachel some kind of baby whisperer?

As Rachel moves back to her spot on the carpet and adjusts Beth on her lap, she turns to Quinn. "Daddy and Mrs. Puckerman are bridge partners and we've all been going to temple together for as long as I can remember," her smile is very small, "even when Noah was throwing slushies at me, nothing changed when our families were around." Quinn still can't produce a word. "I also babysit for his little sister, and Beth is there a lot of the time."

Quinn is baffled that Puck had never mentioned any of that.

"I guess she likes me," Rachel says in this tiny, almost apologetic voice. It seems like she's trying to make up for something, because Quinn has been sitting across from them, just watching, for such a long time now. She's just trying to make sense of it.

Quinn almost suggests they go back to work, but her mind isn't in verses and rhymes right now. "Are you hungry?" she blurts.

A few minutes later they're eating an array of junk food spread between them. Rachel is sharing a bowl of baby carrots with Beth (who's been sucking on the same piece for a while now; she's teething and Quinn grudingly commended Rachel for the good idea).

"You got so lucky with Beth, she's so sweet. I hope mine are just like her."

"Maybe you should bring some wine coolers next time you go to Puck's," Quinn jokes. It's all she can do to take the sting out of being blindsided about the time Rachel's been spending with Beth. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but she wishes she'd been informed. She _does_ tell Puck everything, you know?

Rachel chuckles. "No, that could never—_no_." And they both laugh. It's nice. "As much as our paths keep crossing, it's not _him_ in my dreams." Her face grows serious. "It's never him at all."

Quinn knows where this is going and, against her better judgment, prods, "What do you see? In your dreams, I mean. I know Broadway can't be all of it."

Rachel sighs and Beth looks up at her, munching on her carrot. "It won't be easy, that's a given. But I know all my years of training will help me persevere. I'll get into Juilliard, but I'll live in this shoebox of an apartment nearby, because—"

Rachel looks down. "Because…?"

"My love. He—there's a lot he could do there, New York is blooming with opportunities for people who have yet to find their true passion."

"What if he isn't able to go for some reason?"

"What do you mean?"

Quinn thinks the veil in this conversation was ripped to shreds about five minutes ago. "What if he has responsibilities here? Like running a family business. Or fails school."

Rachel presses her lips together and looks her right in the eye. "Then I'll wait."

What?

"I'll wait for him," she continues, "New York isn't going anywhere and neither is Broadway. I can wait."

Quinn is floored. She has never heard Rachel talk like that. She tries to push it, song writing be damned. "You can't be serious."

"I am," she shrugs.

Quinn can handle a lot of things. (And a lot of crap has been thrown her way in her 17 years.) But an uncertain Rachel Berry is not something she can manage—on a completely selfish level, if she's gonna be honest. Her drive and ambition had been so steady all along that she'd (quietly) come to relying on them when she feels like she will never get what she wants, when all her plans crumble to the ground and she feels like an utter failure.

Rachel Berry unknowingly _inspires _her.

She won't have it.

.

Quinn's in the auditorium, sitting at the piano when she finally confesses to dating Finn.

Being a real estate agent is not in her cards at all—she _will_ get out of Lima. If she has to be a real estate agent somewhere else, so be it.

Marrying Finn? Who knows. She can't think about it right now.

What will _not_ happen, though, is Rachel giving up all she's worked for to compensate for someone else's shortcomings. That is _their_ job. Quinn tries and tries every single day to make up for her own mistakes and not get in other people's way ('_tries_' being the operative word) and she won't allow Finn to pull Rachel down. And she needs to start her prom campaign out in the open, and coming clean to Rachel is the least she can do.

One thing is for sure: there is no song to be co-written now.

.

All the girls have been summoned to the choir room and they're waiting for Rachel to make her announcement. She's the last one to come in and silently hands each of them a few sheets of paper.

It's the song. Apparently, it's a piano piece Rachel wrote and composed by herself and appointed Brittany and Tina as the official back-up singers. The rest of them join in the last chorus.

Rachel doesn't stay to explain—she wouldn't need to, what with all the color-coding—and Tina thinks it's best that they start rehearsing, since there's no choreography. She sits at the piano and familiarizes herself with the music.

Quinn stays put in her seat in the risers. All they have to do is set marks and harmonize, really. Berry at center stage, Britt and Tina behind her on the steps, the rest of them filling up the last row. Mercedes is already doing runs with Brittany. Seems simple.

Why can't she move?

"You look like shit," Lauren states as she takes the seat to her left.

"Thanks."

"Between you and Berry, I'd have pegged her to be childish about this."

Quinn doesn't quite get it. "She… just stormed out."

"Nah, I wouldn't call that a storm out."

True. Lauren hasn't known Rachel as long as Quinn, but that definitely wasn't classic Berry. She even used the I'm-not-feeling-well excuse. She was polite and left them alone to do their thing. _Great_.

"Damn, is this song depressing or what," Lauren exclaims as she leafs through the pages. Quinn was not yet ready to get past the title: _Get it right_.

But of course, no one else had the same concern. (It happens when you refuse to share things.) Mercedes and Santana bicker awhile for the Rachel part, which is a little amusing, but Mercedes eventually starts the song. Now it's Tina on the piano, Britt sitting on top of it, clutching her sheets of paper like she doesn't want to miss a single cue, Mercedes on the (off) mic, with Santana harmonizing to her side. Quinn almost crumples her set of lyrics when Mercedes starts. She picks up bits and pieces (it'll take them a long time to get to the final chorus) but it's pretty clear.

This is about Quinn.

_What can you do when your good isn't good enough and all that you touch tumbles down?_

_'Cause my best intentions keep making a mess of things, I just wanna fix it somehow._

_But how many times will it take? How many times will it take for me to get it right?_

She can't say it and she can't attempt to sing it.

Time shifts and the room shuffles around her. There's no one else in here. Just Brittany, sitting next to her with a hand on her back, and Santana standing before her, arms crossed, eyebrows raised—not in mockery, but concern.

In a few words, she tells them what the song stemmed from. It's not a big deal until her vision funnels more and more and she doesn't know exactly what came out of her mouth. All she knows is the sound of Santana saying "_Shit_."

It's all she hears (repeatedly) before her sobs engulf all sounds and her friends hold her.

.

Quinn can't do much but remain stoic while she watches Finn watch Rachel. If she just focuses on her cues, Rachel's final belt on stage before they all join in, she can ward off another panic attack.

It works. Finn hugs her when they're walking into the wings again and can't stop praising Rachel and how that song is so awesome.

"She told me—so you helped her write it, right?" Finn asks with this boyish hope that maybe he did something amazing by getting them together.

"It's a good song, Finn."

"Come on," he runs his hands down the sides of her arms, "you gotta be a little more proud than that. We _killed_ it. That was all you guys," he says, holding her shoulders and steadily looking into her eyes.

Quinn can't—she _can't_ allow herself to feel this again. It'd been working for her so far. "It's fine." She's not saying much (if she does, she'll break again and that's unacceptable).

She can tell he's disappointed.

.

Lucy is _everywhere_.

At first she tolerated Zizes—the girl was allergic to babies, but she was good for Puck. Now she's pushing way too many buttons and don't even start on Puck running with her for prom. To his credit, Puck was honest with her and said they could've run together, said they "could've blown this shit out of the water", but Quinn decided to do a shitty thing to Rachel for no reason and Lauren really wanted that crown. And Puck really wants _her_, so that's a plus.

So what if Judy has to deal with Puck for the foreseeable future? He shouldn't have messed with any of this in the first place. (Their baby shouldn't suffer the consequences is what she's saying. So Judy's there for her.)

Quinn has to yank down fourteen posters of Lucy before Lauren comes clean with her. And _she _comes clean with Lauren.

It's when she sees that her friends and her boyfriend haven't turned their backs on her—_again_—that she breathes and _almost blinks_ and misses the most important day of her life so far.

Beth's birthday.

Her hair curls at the tips in this really cute way, she has Quinn's eyes and, she grudgingly admits, thankfully has Puck's nose and smile.

Her Beth is _not_ Lucy.

After the small gathering around a bakery cake, Puck holds Quinn's hand and she finally realizes it wouldn't have have mattered at all if she were.

.

"Stacy, that's not nice," Quinn warns, and Stacy puts down a pillow (that's bigger than she is) she was about to thump her brother with. It's a great thing that Stacy is a good kid and, whatever she does, she needs to be warned only once. Stevie was already ducking, waiting for the smack, but he's interrupted by Sam walking into the motel room. Stacy somersaults across the bed and jumps Sam, Beth shrieks when she sees him. (_Loudly_.) It's almost dark out and Quinn makes way for Stevie, who dropped his video game controller and is walking towards his brother with a grin on his face.

It's a sight to see.

"Did they give you any trouble?"

It's always the same question for the exact same answer. "No, they were great."

Stacy lets go of Sam's neck. "Beth was a little loud."

Sam playfully twists one of her pigtails. "Now _that's _normal, she's not a big girl like you."

Sam and his siblings always have this little moment by the door, where they talk about their day and Sam just relaxes his shoulders, kind of striking that out as a battle won. It also always ends up with them going on about how awesome Quinn is and that's _always _nice to hear.

Even better the day Sam finally agrees with them.

They hug for a long moment outside and he thanks her, again, just like every other day.

"So I'm awesome?"

Sam laughs lightly. "You kinda knew that already."

It's not something she hears from other people all that often, so no. Even _Beth_seems more partial to Britt, Puck and even Sam; she's not exactly Quinn's main cheerleader here. (And given how excitable her daughter is, her first word will probably be 'bubbles' or 'Uniqua'. She's not banking on any form of mama.)

Quinn shakes her head with a smile. "Will you rethink prom?"

"You're not _that_ awesome, Quinn," he says with a smirk. He's dead set on not going because of his current situation, but she wants all her friends there. If she managed convince Finn to run the winning campaign (according to JBI, that is), she can talk him into going. Hell, she could talk any girl into _asking him _to go.

Maybe Rachel, if it'll get her to be less stupidly depressing about everything else.

"I'm just not in the mood at all, really," he dismisses while he straightens the collar of his letterman jacket. She bats his hands away to do the job herself, but sees nothing wrong with it. He scratches the back of his neck. "I think I got a rash from this jacket Kurt gave me."

"The brown trench?"

"Yeah," his cheeks color and she resists pinching them. He looks down at Beth in the stroller and ruffles her hair. "Bye, cutie!" and she shrieks with joy once more.

For just a second, Quinn wishes they had worked out.

"I'm not done, _you're going _to prom," she says as she starts pushing the stroller away. He just grins.

That same week she learns that Rachel asked him and he turned her down. She doesn't know whether to feel proud of her accidental accomplishment or to whack him upside the head for ruining it.

.

Her favorite part about the night is her corsage. When she loses, it's the first thing she tosses in the trash on her way to the bathroom with Berry on her heel. Things escalate so quickly that Quinn slaps her across the face and she can't even come up with a good reason why and then Rachel's telling her she's more than that crown and then dabbing at Quinn's face with a tissue.

Their night is basically ruined, both their dates got kicked out and she doesn't really know where to go from here. She still has her back to the mirror and is holding the edge of the sink when she follows Rachel's gaze to her bare wrist.

"What happened to the gardenia?"

"The what?"

"Your corsage."

Oh. "He gave it to me," Quinn says matter-of-factly. He's not here for her anymore, so that thing won't be either, no matter how pretty it is. She doesn't quite get why Rachel looks so disappointed, but her train of thought gets interrupted when she takes Quinn's hand.

"We should go back out there. Might as well enjoy the last dance, right?"

It suddenly dawns on her that she basically stormed out when Kurt was the butt of the joke. Now she feels like a perfect jerk. "Do you think Kurt will go for it?"

"I have no doubt," Rachel smiles and squeezes Quinn's hand.

It's kind of amazing how much faith Rachel can have in things sometimes.

.

_"Do you even _feel_ anything anymore?"_ is what echoes in her mind and it won't stop.

Her flats were killing her and she took them off halfway home. She lets them fall where they may when she gets in and sees that her mom is watching something colorful with Beth in the living room—she really can't be bothered with the educational level of the program right now.

She manages to go upstairs unnoticed, change into sweatpants, a Little Miss Bossypants shirt she hasn't worn since she was fourteen, and her pink nikes. She's tying her hair up in a ponytail when her phone buzzes in her handbag. It's peeking halfway out of it from when she threw it on the bed and it's not Finn's picture. Not that she was _expecting _it. It's actually Brittany.

"What?" She winces at her choice of greeting—Britt's got nothing to do with anything here.

Britt, bless her heart, doesn't take it personally. "Hey! You left in a hurry, is everything okay? I mean, not that it would be, it was a sad funeral and all, but—"

"I'm fine," she says curtly.

"Mike said Finn didn't drive you home."

"He didn't, I walked home." Quinn _really _doesn't wanna get into this right now.

"But... That's way across town, that's stupid."

Well, Quinn's not the one who broke up with her ride at a funeral. She squeezes her eyes shut. There are _so_ many things wrong with that scenario that it makes her head spin—and she's not about to try and reason this with _Brittany_.

"Quinn? You're quiet."

"Sorry. I don't wanna talk, Britt."

"Okay." She pauses for a bit. "Do you wanna sing about it?"

Her smile comes without her permission. "_Stop _hanging out with Rachel, Britt."

"Actually it's Santana, she needs to choose a song for her solo and won't leave me alone. Why's 'back to black' a big deal? This funeral's getting to everyone."

"Didn't they audition yesterday?"

"Yeah, but she says there's a callback on Friday. She's not talking to me because I don't know winehouse." Quinn laughs lightly. "I don't even know where to _begin_."

"Well, begin with _Amy _Winehouse. That's her last name, she wrote the song."

"Ohh, that makes so much more sense! She _did _yell 'google Amy' and it sounded so dirty."

Quinn doesn't know why a tear escapes the corner of her eye when she's actually smiling, but she needs it to go away because this is her friend trying to make her feel better the best she can. She sniffles.

"Hey, do you want me to come over?" Britt sounds concerned again.

"No, really, I'm just..." Damn it. Quinn doesn't know if she can finish this sentence without crying again. "I have to go."

She hangs up before Britt can say anything and feels even worse, but she quickly fires off a text before shutting off her phone. _Sorry B, I really can't talk right now. I need to run. xx__  
_  
She knows Britt will take it literally—others would get _existential _on her—and that's really what she needs. A good run will send her mind into that happy blank space and she needs a moment where she's not an insensitive girlfriend or a mother or anything other than just a _girl_.

Her mom sees her coming down the stairs and turns around on the couch to fully face her.

"Quinnie," she says, confusion etched on her features. Beth also turns around and stands, holding herself up on the back of the couch. (It will never not be amazing the way her baby's antennae go up upon hearing Quinn's name.)

"When did you get in?" Her mom holds Beth's back when she starts jiggling in place, incoherent syllables coming out of her mouth (and she really looks like she means them).

It makes her heart hurt that she can't do this right now.

"I, uh, just did. I'm going for a run." Quinn's thankful for the distance between them right now, she doesn't want any more questions about why she's crying. "I won't be long."

Her mother also knows better than to question someone who's just been to a funeral—it was something she was always told growing up, it's not _polite _to ask how it was. It's not a party, it's a somber occasion and people should be reverent and proper.

(And not break up with their girlfriends.)

She's out the door in a beat.

.

The burning in her thighs is what finally makes her stop. She rests her hands on her knees and ducks her head, breathing heavily. When she looks up and around, she realizes she went so far into the trail she doesn't quite know where she is right now. (Lima's not nearly large enough for it to be a concern, though.)

She's scared within an inch of her life when she hears footsteps and twigs snapping here and there when she's pretty sure she hasn't seen anyone around for nearly twenty minutes. She doesn't have enough fight (or energy) in her anymore to keep running, so she just takes a few quiet steps forward and hunches against a tree. She closes her eyes.

"_Ugh_. For fuck's sake, Q," she hears and it's a nearly out of body experience how relieved she feels.

Why _Santana_'s here though is a different question altogether.

Quinn looks up and sees her disheveled friend in jeans and a black top, trying to straighten the hair that's sticking to her face and neck.

Oh and she looks positively _murderous_.

Quinn relaxes enough to flop her butt on the ground and and arch her back against the tree. Santana's chest is heaving and she places her hands on her hips, after screwing her hair into a messy bun. Her stance casts a shadow over Quinn and she looks up. "What?"

"Are you serious right now?"

"I don't even know how you found me here, Santana, so drop the attitude."

Santana's shoulders sag just an inch and she huffs. "Britt called me. She was afraid you were gonna jump off a cliff or something."

Of course. During the summer, she and Britt ran up the same trail everyday and Quinn really doesn't know any others (and she's not keen on running within city limits, least of all today), so it makes sense Britt would know where she was. "Why did you come? She said you weren't talking to her."

"Yeah, well, that shit doesn't hold when it matters, so." Santana almost looks embarrassed to be admitting this. "Besides, she got held up with her stupid cat and asked me if I could come instead."

"Just like that?"

"She asked _nicely_. Don't be a bitch," she says as she rolls her eyes and sits down next to Quinn. "So. Talk."

Quinn glances at the general direction where the sun is setting and lets out a shaky breath. Just starting this conversation is making her nauseous. "I don't think I ever liked Finn at all."

"Well, no shit."

"I just wanted a crown."

"Again, not surprised."

"I hurt Sam. And Rachel."

Quinn's met with silence and turns around.

Santana splays her hands out in the air. "Well, you're not telling me anything new here."

True. "Sometimes I feel like I tore my family apart and drove my father away."

Santana nearly jerks Quinn's shoulder out of its socket with her hand and looks her dead in the eyes. "Russell Fabray is an _asshole_. Don't you even dare say something like that again."

Still holding Santana's gaze, Quinn concedes, "I said _sometimes_." She actually doesn't give Russell much thought. It's when she's at her lowest that the idea of still being a failure brings him to her mind, his chilling presense reducing her to nothing more than a chubby child who could have always tried harder, done a little bit better. One who was never good enough. It's moments like these that make her walls crumble and the ghosts come out to play. "I don't want my daughter to have any reason to think that about me."

Santana's voice is soft. "She's in good hands."

Quinn's tears cloud her vision and she's afraid that if she blinks too fast, she has no chance of holding them back.

"I can't _be_ everything and still do everything I want. For her and for myself. Most of the time I don't even know where to look, I'm just… lost in this whole thing. I try and I try to be more than what everyone expects of me and I _can't_ get it right."

This time, she stands no chance. The tears have found their way out and trickle steadily down her face.

Santana shifts closer and takes Quinn's hand, holding it between both of hers on her lap. "Quinn, you can't—there's _no way_ we can meet everyone's expectations, let alone exceed them. Sure, everyone expects a pregnant 16-year-old to fail eight ways to Sunday and end up in a freakin' trailer park, but _look_ at your life. You're not doing this 'well enough', you deserve a fucking medal."

"I don't think that's the case at all," she says with a humorless laugh.

"Just for putting up with Finn, _yeah_, you do."

"He broke up with me."

Santana seems taken aback. "When?"

"Right after the funeral." Before Santana can form any words. "In the parking lot."

So what if she's divulging that little detail for the shock factor? Something's gotta make her feel better after this crass day.

"Oh my—you _have_ to be kidding."

"Not at all."

Santana's laugh is a tad out of the blue. "Sorry to make this about me for just second, but I am _so_ fucking glad I'm gay right now."

Quinn chances a smile and squeezes Santana's hands, which are still holding hers. "I'm proud of you."

It seems like this little outburst caught Santana by surprise and she tries to recompose herself. "Well."

"Santana," she tugs at her hands a little harder. "You should be proud, too."

It's Santana's turn to get misty-eyed. "Yeah, whatever. Gimme a minute to recover from Miss Celibate Christian Preggo embracing the gay, all right?"

Quinn takes that with a small smile and _dear God_, when will she _ever_ stop crying?

"Are you with Britt?"

"What, jealous?"

Quinn rolls her eyes as she wipes her cheek with the back of her free hand. "It was _one_ kiss and _you_ told me to forget about it."

"For good reason. But no, we're not—together, together. She's more open now that she and Artie broke up, but nothing's happened yet. It's like we're us again, a little bit."

"Have you told your parents?"

"No," she says, an undercurrent of fear in her voice. "I can't go there yet."

Quinn lays her head on Santana's shoulder and looks down at their joined hands. Santana's stroking her thumb against her palm and it's more comforting than it has any right to be. Suddenly, her fatigue seems to descend upon her and her eyes droop closed.

"Who the fuck breaks up with someone at a funeral, I mean," Santana sounds so incredulous that Quinn has to laugh.

.

They lose at Nationals.

Finn kissing Rachel mid-performance seems to be the root cause of her arm strain right now. She's massaging her right bicep resting her back against most of the pillows in the hotel room they had to drag Santana into after her outburst against Rachel. It amazes her that it took three people to hold that tiny thing back and she almost slipped out of their grasp. It wasn't until Mercedes intervened (it seems to Quinn that she let it go on for her own personal enjoyment before she was fed up and yelled at Santana) and now they're in this separate room. Sam and Mike look as exhausted as she feels, Mercedes is pacing up and down in front of Santana, who's being gently held in place by Brittany on the edge of a separate bed.

Quinn sees Mike touch his chin and wince. "You okay?"

"It was just an elbow, happens to everyone," he replies, side-eyeing Santana.

"_Whatever_, Chang."

Mercedes stops her pacing and points a finger at Santana's nose. "I think I said _no peep_ outta you."

"I can't be the only one wanting to pound that midget to the ground, not that it would take much effort at all."

Sam gets a nod from Mercedes before turning to Santana. (That's… new.) "Do you really think that's all it was, though? We had no practice _at all_. I think we did better doing Ke$ha all drunk than what we did here."

"Thank you," Brittany says sweetly.

"Trouty, while I _thank you_ for the awesome reminder that I puked my guts in front of the whole school, I still think that hadn't those two idiots kissed, we'd have at least clinched tenth place. We'd have _qualified_, s'all I'm saying."

Quinn blows her newly cut bangs out of her left eye. "But we didn't, Santana. Though… you're right, in a way, we shouldn't have left the preparation for last minute."

"We'll do better next year," Mike completes and smiles at her.

Mercedes softens a tad and slumps next to Sam, who seems way too eager to accommodate her. (Quinn makes a mental note to ask her what gives later.) "I'll admit our group number was pretty awesome. Britt and Mike, you still rock at eleventh-hour choreography."

"I keep telling you my talent's pretty amazing, you guys just don't listen."

Santana laces her fingers with Britt's as if to say _I always do_. Quinn's chest clenches and she feels a wee bit proud of her best friends.

Mercedes continues. "And Tina, Sam, Lauren and Rachel did the best they could with the song, so… I'm still pretty proud."

Santana grunts. "_Fine_."

Sam perks up. "Will you be nice to Rachel now?"

Quinn almost laughs at his daddy tone.

"I need to crack open the mini bar otherwise I'll crack _her skull_, so," she looks around the room, "who's with me?"

A relieved chorus erupts. Quinn will stick to whatever soda she finds, but seeing her friends united (again) for a common goal gives her a little more hope for what's to come.

..


End file.
